


Us

by salatuh



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Canon Disabled Character, Gen, Other, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 10:18:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13715589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salatuh/pseuds/salatuh
Summary: A/N: this is based off a tumblr prompt for religious takes on Black Sails. You can interpret it however you feel. :)This is set during the Shark Date episode in Season 3. John is losing his grip and finds hope in the hull of the ship. <3





	Us

He can’t remember how long they’ve been like this anymore. It could be three weeks, three years, three lifetimes, for all he knows. But one thing is devastatingly clear to John; they are dying and he cannot see a way out of this. 

There are no more tricks to play, no more manipulations to gain them an upper hand. There are only wheezing skeletons with leathering skin and parched lips. There are the eyes of those who still look up to him with the hope that they will get through this trial, just like they did at the hands of Vane’s crew in Charlestown Bay. But John doesn’t see how cutting off another limb would feed their faith in him well enough this time.

He stands in the ever familiar galley of the Walrus with the few crumbs of bread in the palm of his hand that count as his full ration for the day. He is alone for the moment as he chews and swallows what feels like the ultimate betrayal to his brothers lying in hammocks that hang like cloth coffins above. Tears hot and stinging escape his eyes and he shamefully wishes he could lap at them to give him some form of relief. 

“Jesus,” he cursedly sobs and shakes his head while collapsing on the floor in a heap; he grips his crutch’s leg between the cracked skin of his palms and presses his forehead to the wood in a silent, desperate prayer. _We need a way out of this. Just help me find a way out of this for us._

His mind’s eye denies him of any comforting aids, instead showing him a reminder of his shortcomings as their quartermaster; Muldoon’s loving brown eyes, wide and full of fear, his final breaths escaping his lungs in a torrent of bubbles on the surface of the hull where Silver clung to his outstretched arm. 

John furrows his brow and weakly pants through his drying tears. He needs to pay him a visit. 

With a painful grunt, he stands on his one foot and leans on his crutch with both wrists over the crutch handle, forehead bowed while he catches his breath. He licks his lips with tacky saliva and sniffs back his tears then starts his descent to the hull of the ship where Muldoon’s body still lays. 

Images flood his mind like the tepid water that overtook them that night in the tempest; they lull and lap in his skull while he makes his way down the steps. He recalls Dooley taking extra care to follow the directions he gave in wrapping Muldoon’s mangled body with the tattered sailcloth they found hanging by the mast. It may have been weeks since then, but John still can’t bring himself to throw Muldoon’s body over the railing. Something told him to wait. 

The room isn’t as dark as he remembers it to be. The holes in the side are still holding up to their patching, the wooden pegs swelling around thickly woven fabric and staying firmly in place in these calm waters. John swallows and turns to the table where Muldoon’s body had been lain. 

Except when he gets there, all there is to behold is unraveled cloth. 

A warm brightness floods the hull from every direction. John shields his eyes with a weak arm and backs into the wall behind him with a startled gasp. He feels a familiar gentle grip take over his senses. He cannot explain it, but it is as though the essence of Muldoon’s presence embraces his soul, pulling him from the dark depths of his doubt, fear and desperation— transforming them into hope and comfort. 

_Are you ready now?_

John’s eyes widen, his mouth falls agape as he lowers his hand and hears Muldoon’s voice, clear as the Caribbean seas within his mind. He coughs and his breath becomes a mist hanging in the air in front of him. 

“What?” He croaks out to the presence encompassing him and the hull. John shivers and sighs when the light moves and shifts, taking form, becoming flesh. 

“We’ll take care of you.”  

His face unfurls with shock as Muldoon stands before him, whole and unscathed; It is as if he is a reborn man instead of the rotting carcass John had neglected for so long. 

“How?” John clears his thready voice and speaks again, shaking his head and failing to unsee the spectre before him. “This can’t be real.” 

Muldoon smiles quietly, a whisper hidden behind his kind eyes. “You called for help,” he says. John sighs as Muldoon’s words resonate in his bones. Muldoon points above them with two fingers and John follows their guidance. “Up there, you asked for a way out. Are you ready? Will you let us take care of you?” 

John’s eyes close shut while he shudders around a breath. They flutter open when he feels soothing pressure on the side of his neck. Muldoon’s palm curls around, firm and warm, present. Peace radiates through him in waves; John recalls then what moving water feels like for the first time in so long. 

“Us?” He manages. 

Muldoon nods. In his other hand lays a harpoon, sharp and sturdy. John doesn’t question how it was conjured into existence and feels its oak length press into his right palm, a promise of strength. 

John’s knuckles crack into motion around the harpoon and he is washed over with a replenishing coolness that travels up his arm through his weakened muscles until the fatigue vanishes from them. He is overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with a pure sense of belonging, of a sensation he had not felt since he was a child, before the orphanage, when he saw his mother’s deep brown eyes. He bows his head to Muldoon’s shoulder and weeps without hesitation, relief embraces him closer. 

“You’ll help us,” John whispers and wipes his eyes into his dearest brother’s skin. “I’ll do it,” he looks up, blue eyes resolute and bright. “Whatever it is to get us through this, I will do it.” 

Muldoon’s face lights up with joy and John feels his heart beat stronger with a newfound spirit. 

“Take this,” Muldoon begins. “And ask for the betrayer’s help.” John stands straighter at the sudden vivid image before him like a mirage— James, bent over in tears within the Captain’s cabin, gunpowder still on his shaking hands. “You will be accounted for when you confess at the belly of the whale.” 

He gasps out a sob when Muldoon pulls away entirely, standing before him again with his hands at his sides, peace incarnate. John clutches to the harpoon with both hands to steady himself alongside his crutch. He furrows his brow. 

“Wh-why him?” 

Muldoon gently smiles and steps back. 

John shakes his head when he gets no immediate response. He blinks his eyes closed with a fresh set of tears.  

_“Have faith, John.”_

His eyes fly open at the whisper of Muldoon’s words so close to his ear, but he stands to bear witness to an empty room. He darts glances across the room but finds no signs of him, not even the tattered sailcloth is left behind. 

John pushes up with the harpoon on a quiet gasped out grunt, then clambers up the stairs as quick as he can muster with new fervor in his being. The mid morning sun shines off the harpoon’s tip as he hobbles across the deck where Joji stands by DeGroot, who warily leans with a spyglass to his eye pointed to an obscure hillmound in the flat waters. 

DeGroot cranes his neck and weakly coughs when he passes John the spyglass to look through. John peers with clarity and focus, sharp like a hawk. He can make out over the waves of heat hitting the water… a large fanned tail, a thick fin, a partially open mouth…

“It’s dead,” DeGroot offers. 

John swallows and opens his lips in awe while he lowers the spyglass. 

“It’s a whale,” he says with a small grin. He turns to DeGroot and twists the harpoon in his hand. “Ready a launch, please.” 

DeGroot reels his head, taken aback. “Did you not hear me say it’s dead?” 

The quartermaster looks down and nods, in thought. When their eyes meet again, John smiles and places a palm to DeGroot’s shoulder. 

“Have some faith, we’ll take care of it.” 

“Who is ‘we’?” DeGroot squints. 

John is already halfway to the Captain’s quarters, lightly panting while he leans equal weight on his crutch and the harpoon. 

“Our captain and I are going fishing.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Feel free to chat me up on Tumblr @Silversexual :) 
> 
> Best wishes, 
> 
>  
> 
> Maze <3


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